


That is not a Candy Corn.

by Loracine



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-21
Updated: 2016-09-21
Packaged: 2018-08-16 11:29:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8100736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loracine/pseuds/Loracine
Summary: Prompt: candy corn





	

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written for the SPN Writing Challenge: May 2016 on Tumblr.  
> | @loracine vs @lennyways |  
> Prompt: candy corn

She had a reputation that was tough as nails, even though the last vestiges of baby fat still clung to her face, softening her features. Soft golden waves of hair hung over her shoulder, cascading down her back and accentuating the subtle sway of her hips as she walked between the tables. She ignored a catcall from across the room, shrill whistle sounding clear over the raucous crowd and the well-fed jukebox in the corner.

He’d been watching her since Tuesday. Cold draught and a burger every night for the past three days as his eyes tracked her around the room, leaving a chill crawling down her spine and worry dogging her every step. He didn’t look like the typical patron, plaid and a week’s worth of grime. The crisp lines of his heather grey suit followed the cut of his frame like it had been tailored just for him. It didn’t belong in this rough and tumble bar. He didn’t belong.

"I’m telling you, Cubs and Rangers, man."

"How can you know that? The first game of the season isn’t till tomorrow."

She threaded between two tables, deftly avoiding drunken hands as the men sought her attention. "What’ll it be," she asked the newcomer slumped over table three already looking worse for the wear.

He grunted, finger tapping on the lacquered wood. "Whiskey," he grunted, "and keep it coming."

She nodded absently, blonde hair whispering in the dark. "Sure thing, Ash," she replied.

The man in the suit turned his head, the interest plain on his face.

A short time later, after she’d made the rounds to top off slowly emptying glasses and pitchers, she appeared at his shoulder, brown eyes narrowed. She was carrying a fresh pint in one hand, the other was busy picking at the dents in the tabletop by his elbow.

He took the drink with a smirk, popping a few of the candy corns from the bowl at the center of his table.

She didn't even ask about the candy. "You know, Dean," she began, "Sam wouldn't have wanted you to sit up here and mope."

Dean nodded, green eyes sad. "Well, when Luci's done riding his ass you can tattle on me," he informed her as he drained the last of his beer.

Joanna shook her head as she walked away, threading between the tables of dreamed up memories like she'd done a thousand times before.

Dean looked down at his hands wishing there was some way he could finally forget the moment his worst nightmare had come true. Everything after that had only been icing on that shit cake and it had only gotten worse. They might call this place paradise, but he didn't see how it could be without his little brother. He couldn't even stand to set foot inside their Heaven. Not for the first time, he wondered why Lucifer had spared his soul.

This wasn't mercy. At least Hell had been distracting.


End file.
